


Books and Scrolls

by embeer2004



Series: A vampire, his blood-brother and his witcher [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (for a Witcher 1 character), Angst and Feels, Gen, Genetics, Grief/Mourning, Message from an old friend, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-Hearts of Stone (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Witcher Lore, Witcher 1 spoilers, discussions, elder blood, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Geralt, accompanied by Regis, finally pays a visit to the Books and Scrolls bookstore on Hierarch Square. A letter concealed in a book with a reddish-brown cover brings a painful revelation to the witcher while Regis, ever the scholar and scientist, ponders the elder gene.





	Books and Scrolls

A bit bemused, Geralt walked up the stairs of the Books and Scrolls bookstore. He was used to people recognising him, especially after Dandelion had started singing ballads of his ‘heroic’ deeds, but the shopkeeper had greeted him like a long-awaited prophesy come to life. Which, admittedly, for Marcus Hodgson it _had_ , after years of waiting for the right customer.  
  
“Quite a perplexing situation, wouldn’t you say, Geralt?” Regis followed closely behind him, long fingers reaching out reverently to some of the coloured spines. “Some might even ponder the notion of destiny.”  
  
Red. A red cover. That’s what he was now looking for. “Encountered stranger,” he muttered, ignoring Regis’ barb on destiny. There were too many red books!  
  
“Do you have any idea about the book’s author or title?” His friend looked up at him, a curious glint in his eyes.  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. “Hell if I know. Gonna have to look for it. Know it when I see it.” He waved his hand at the books on the upper level. “Might take a while, Regis. Were you looking for something specific?”  
  
Regis pulled a red book from the shelf. “The treatment of furuncles through cauterisation, a study. Hmm.”  
  
Geralt bit his cheek. “Yeah, not likely, Regis.” He started pulling some old books from the shelves, but neither the topics, nor the authors, were familiar to him.  
  
“I find it even more perplexing how you have managed to pass Novigrad’s largest bookstore all these years without ever entering it. I had thought you to be something of a book vampire yourself, fervently perusing any materials within your reach.”  
  
“Book worm,” he corrected, distractedly. _The merry adventures of Muriel the lovely harlot_ , _with illustrations_. Definitely not what he was looking for, but… perhaps something for Yen?  
  
The sound of forceful choking rapidly made him turn around, blood rushing in his ears. “Regis! You all right?” Instinctively his hand reached for his medallion, but the metal lay silently against his chest.  
  
Regis walked up to him and lightly touched his elbow, a wry smile on his lips. “Apologies, Geralt.” He nodded at the book he was holding. “I could not prevent an uncharismatic exclamation from escaping my trachea. I am actually horrified, reading this drivel; the author’s methods are completely unethical and highly ineffective.”  
  
Geralt sighed in relief, the tenseness in his shoulders draining away at feeling Regis’ reassuring touch. New surroundings always made him more wary, his senses focused on anything that could pose a danger. He took the tome from Regis, eyes flitting over the open pages, and felt a stab of annoyance at the book’s author. In times when the plague had still been running rampant, people,  _desperate_ people, would have followed this advise. “Wonder if we can find the author, make him retract all copies…”  
  
Regis took the book from him and started climbing up the library ladder. “My dear Geralt, you truly are the consummate witcher.” He placed the horrific tome on the top shelf, out of sight from people unless they actually climbed up the ladder – and found the topic of interest. “Let us hope that, now that a cure for the Catriona plague has been found, people will stop looking for their salvation in the demented scribbles of an obvious ignoramus.”  
  
“Agreed, Regis,” Geralt snorted and returned to his quest. A glittering of candlelight reflected on golden lettering drew his attention. It likely wasn’t the book he was looking for, its hue more brown than reddish, still, he pulled it from the shelf and read the title.  
  
_My manifesto – The life of Jacques de Aldersberg._  
  
He very well remembered that name. This _was_ the book he’d been looking for. Scanning through it, word for word, the face of the Grandmaster of the Order of the White Rose appeared in his mind’s eye. He turned another page and there, tucked away in the manifesto, was a yellowed letter. Even more curious.  
  
“Hmm, now this seems interesting,” Regis’ voice muttered behind him. The vampire was still browsing through the store’s eclectic collection, piling all the red books he could find on the small table.  
  
After reading the odd letter, Geralt didn’t know how to handle this revelation. He held back the urge to crumble the note, but instead his thumb idly traced the yellowed parchment as memories rushed back to him. The Grandmaster’s words on the Ice Plains; how had he not made the connection before? _A,_ that’s how de Aldesberg had signed the letter.  
  
“Alvin. _”_ The name appeared unbidden on his lips. Another one he couldn’t save.  
  
“Geralt?” Regis appeared in his line of vision.  
  
He handed him the letter; there were no secrets between them, not anymore. “A message from an old friend,” he explained, letting the vampire read in silence.  
  
When dark eyes looked up at him, confused, he continued.  
  
“For a time, he was mine. Before I remembered Ciri and Yen, any of you, Shani and I took him in. A young boy. We tried to be a family. For a while we were and then… he disappeared. And now it’s revealed that it was _him_ and that he created these _abominations_ with Salamandra because he’d seen the future and he’d failed to defeat the White Frost. He was just a boy, Regis. One who’d seen the ugly side of war and just wanted to save the world. The man he became though…” He’d already had enough regrets about his actions, but the Grandmaster hadn’t given him a way out, it was either kill or be killed. If he had let the King of the Wild Hunt take away his soul… with all that he knew now he could only feel relief that he’d won de Aldersberg’s soul from Eredin, _Alvin’s_ soul. “I killed him, on the Plains. I killed _Alvin_ ,” he breathed, shuddering, imploring his friend to understand his incoherent ramblings.  
  
Regis gently took the book from him, tucking the letter back between its pages, and placed it on the table. Then he slowly closed the distance between them and carefully pulled him into an embrace. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear friend.” The vampire didn’t say anything further; allowing him time to order his whirling thoughts at this revelation and to compose himself.  
  
Geralt had always wondered what had happened to Alvin; as a source he could be living his life anywhere and anytime, but this message and the revelation it brought… He breathed in deeply, Regis’ herbal scent drawing his thoughts back to the present. When he felt calmer he stepped out of his friend’s embrace and picked up the book again, caressing the cover before tucking it into his satchel. It was his now, the clerk had said so. “Thanks, Regis.” Tonight he would raise a glass to Alvin’s memory and share some happier stories.  
  
Noticing the pile of red books Regis had stacked on the desk, Geralt couldn’t stop a fond smile from appearing on his lips. Regis… always trying to help. He picked up the book of Muriel’s adventures, deciding he _would_ buy it for Yen.  
  
Regis nodded towards the stairs. “We have spent too long of a time in this stuffy establishment, wouldn’t you say, Geralt? Let us finish our business here and continue our stroll of Novigrad?” The vampire picked up one of the red books and hugged it to his chest, ready to head down.  
  
“What you got there, Regis?” Seems like his friend had found something of interest as well. Another instalment in the herbarium series perhaps?  
  
A shy smile appeared on the vampire’s lips as Regis showed him the title. “ _Moribundia_ , it is, as you would say, a, uhm, well I suppose one could call it a romantic comedy?”  
  
He inwardly shrugged his shoulders. Why not? Regis was ancient and it must be tedious only reading heavy materials. He held out his hand for the book, curious.  
  
Regis handed it over without much of ado, though – was he blushing? “I find it quite pleasant during Saovine until Birke to peruse some light-hearted entertainment in the evenings. This particular item will serve that purpose magnificently.”  
  
Geralt smiled, already imagining how he would find his friend later this evening. Here in Novigrad the winters got cold and whenever the vampire visited Dandelion and Zoltan he tended to spend such cold evenings close to the fire, hoarding the comfortable chair in the Chameleon’s private section, huddled under the fluffy blanket he’d appropriated during one of his earlier visits and refusing to move from his comfy lair like a dragon on a hoard. He couldn’t possibly _actually_ be cold, but for some reason _that_ was Regis’ tradition during the colder months.  
  
He read the abstract on the inside of the cover and quirked an eyebrow, casually leafing through the pages before handing it back to Regis. Interesting _._ “Reminds me of Yen’s novels; you’re welcome to browse through our own collection back at Toussaint if you like?”  
  
“I actually will take you up on that kind offer, my friend.” Regis returned a true smile, a portion of his fangs peeking out between his lips, before he composed himself and descended the stairs.  
  
Geralt followed, already searching for his coin purse.  
  
Hodgson was unhurriedly placing what appeared to be a new order of books on the shelves. “Ah, master witcher, did you find the book your friend left for you?”  
  
“I did, thanks.” He showed Hodgson the book on Muriel’s adventures. “How much for this book? And can you gift wrap it for me? Black or white?”  
  
“Most certainly; that’ll be twenty-four crowns for the book and five coppers for the wrapping, master Geralt.” Receiving the coin, the merchant went to the corner and quickly and efficiently wrapped up the book using shiny black paper.  
  
Regis held up _Moribundia_. “I myself, too, have discovered a book of peculiar interest in your collection, master Hodgson. How much for it?”  
  
“That’ll be twenty-four crowns for the book, master. Do you want any wrapping on that as well?”  
  
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary at all, good man. I’ll need no such decorations for myself, though admittedly, in a manner I am gifting it to myself and I-”  
  
Geralt gently bumped into his shoulder, stilling his friend’s nervous chatter. Wait a minute, was that a deck of gwent cards behind the counter? Yes, yes it was. The Scoia’tael faction. Interesting.  
  
“Hope you enjoy the books, masters. Looking forward to seeing you again!” Hodgson swiped his hand out in a bow.  
  
“Perhaps you’d be interested in a game of gwent next time?” Geralt still didn’t have a complete Scoia’tael deck, perhaps he could win some cards off of Hodgson?  
  
“Most certainly, master Geralt. Come around whenever the shop’s open and I’ll be glad to play you, and your friend.”  
  
~*~  
  
Exiting the shop with a lighter feeling than he’d had after reading the letter, Geralt was glad to follow Regis, whose attention had been immediately drawn towards one of the merchant stalls.  
  
The herbalist, of course. The man had still been stalling out his wares when they had entered the bookstore, but Geralt knew the man’s offerings were of excellent quality. The alchemy ingredients were a bit expensive, but the merchant paid him well whenever he sold him his own acquired ingredients in return.  
  
He didn’t remember the mirror merchant stalled right next to him though. Customarily that place was taken up by a cart carrying all sorts of victuals, and the pair of jugglers usually frolicking around were nowhere to be seen. He narrowed his eyes, body tensing, before truly seeing and smelling the new merchant. The man had long dark curly hair and glasses on a crooked nose and his outfit seemed to suggest he hailed from Kovir. His scent didn’t have the tang of spice and lightning, but finally it was the look in his eyes that decided it for him: just a normal merchant.  
  
Dark eyes had settled on his satchel and the vampire’s lips were pursed; Geralt knew that look and breathed in deeply, mentally preparing to deal with his friend’s curiosity. “I must admit, there is this matter that I find utmost intriguing...”  
  
The vampire fell silent, but Geralt didn’t cajole his friend into speaking before he was ready, knowing there likely were a thousand thoughts going through Regis’ mind. Like any scholar, whenever a new idea gripped his mind Regis wanted, no, _needed_ to discuss it, but his excited thoughts were quicker than his Common vocabulary and if Geralt wanted him to make any sense it was better to allow him some time to arrange his thoughts.  
  
It was less than a minute before Regis continued as if he’d never stopped speaking. “Court mages, sorceresses and elven sages all separately have established that the descendents carrying Lara's gift are easily recognisable by the colour of their hair. The elder gene, after all, being present in every cell of their body.”  
  
Geralt frowned. That was not the topic he’d been expecting.  
  
Regis looked at him intently, dark eyes flittering up and down his body, lingering on his hair. He tapped his forefinger to his lips, pensive. “If I remember correctly, dear friend, the colour of your hair changed after the additional Trial you were subjected to.”  
  
He wasn’t surprised Regis remembered; the gentle vampire always listened to him with eager attention, even more so if that was possible when it was about his own past.  
  
“Auburn… I’m pretty sure my hair was auburn before all of this.” A metal table, cold, pain, blood and more unpleasantness that he’d rather not dwell on flashed behind his eyes. Vesemir revealing Sad Albert and his own discovery in the cave north-west of Kaer Morhen had reawakened his memories and brought the nightmares back in full for _months_.  
  
A touch on his hand drew him back to the present. “I do apologise for awakening painful memories, dear Geralt, that was not my intention.” Regis’ shoulders were hunched and he carefully drew back his hand; his eyes evading his own.  
  
Geralt sighed. He knew that. He clasped his hand to the back of Regis’ neck, silently asking the vampire to lift his gaze. When dark eyes met his he offered his friend a kind smile to let him know that it was all right. “Anywhere you’re going with this line of thought, Regis? Surely you don’t consider that us witchers obtained a viable sample of the elder gene and used it during the Trials?”  
  
Regis waved his hand, shaking his head. “No indeed, well, that is to say, not during the _first_ round of Trials.” Geralt could see his friend’s excitement returning and held back a laugh, even despite the topic. Typical scholar.  
  
“No Geralt, if that had been the case then all witchers, at least those of the School of the Wolf, not just you, would have white hair and I would imagine that you would not be alone in the level of your astounding feats and capabilities. Furthermore, I would wonder at _how_ such a source of the elder gene was maintained throughout consecutive generations…”  
  
Rolling his eyes, he started walking towards the herbalist stall; Regis following at his side. Geralt frowned and placed himself on the vampire’s right side. That was better. “Ciri’s hair is ashen colour, not white,” he countered, “Alvin’s was too.”  
  
Regis nodded pensively; it seemed his friend was still busy sorting his thoughts.  
  
With a gentle push of his shoulder Geralt nudged his distracted friend just a bit further to the side when they passed the mirror stall. Regis, as expected, didn’t notice their slight deviation and simply allowed Geralt to decide on the direction they were going.  
  
When they were in front of the stall Regis’ nostrils flared slightly and he jerked his head, pulled from his ruminations. He started examining the herbalist’s wares, and after some quiet bartering with the man, offered one of his own hand-picked mandrake roots in exchange for some prime quality allspice. A fair deal for both sides.  
  
Geralt nodded towards the south. “You wanna go visit the fish market, or head back to the Chameleon?” He didn’t mind a stroll through the city, it was nice for a change to not have a contract or any other pressing matters.  
  
Regis put the allspice away in his shoulder bag and rolled on the balls of his feet. “If you are not opposed to the idea, I believe that a stroll through the market would not be amiss. It is likely that in addition to obtaining some fresh victuals-”  
  
“We’ll also hear some juicy gossip while we hang out at the food stalls,” Geralt interrupted him before he started using too many highbrow words.  
  
Regis sighed heavily in fond exasperation and headed off in the market’s direction.  
  
Geralt prodded him when they were a bit further away from the stalls. “Organised your thoughts?”  
  
The vampire looked around them, taking in the few people hurrying through the cold streets. He lowered his voice, knowing full well Geralt had no trouble hearing him, but any curious ears _would_. “I was pondering over the possibilities of you receiving one of the elder genes, and more specifically, which one of the three. I favour the idea of you receiving the _actual_ gene that was passed on in a direct line through all the female descendents.”  
  
He narrowed his gaze; he was no idiot, but every time that mages and elves started talking about the Elder Blood they went into genealogical charts and dominant and recessive traits and carriers. It got too confusing and in the end it didn’t change anything for him: Ciri had Elder Blood and she was special, but she was special with or without those ancient powers. She was his and he was hers; empress and retired-witcher-turned-vitner. He sighed; he should really go and visit her in the City, in _her_ City now. He breathed in deeply, getting his mind back on track again. “One of the genes, huh?”  
  
“Indeed,” Regis confirmed, “Lara’s gift was in fact not one, but three gifts, in part granted by Cregennan; shuffling and reshuffling in a matter displaying utmost heterogeneity, as shown by the Elder Blood’s powers either being active, or inactive in all the different descendents. The elder gene is supposedly inherently passed on through the female line, yet there are two other versions of it that predominantly occur in the male line: the latent gene and pseudogene, or activator. What I hypothesise is that in a child of the Elder Blood, thus with active abilities, there are two functional copies of any such combination. Seeing as it is more frequent in female descendents than in male descendents, there must be something fundamentally different in the genetics of females than in males; something that allows for more copies of this gene to be present in the females of this line. Male descendents as such may carry one copy of any of these three genes, but unless is it the actual elder gene, and instead one of the recessive genes, an additional activator is required."  
  
Geralt clenched his jaw; he could already feel a headache coming on. This sounded familiar; after he’d regained his memories Triss had revealed all information she had on the Lodge and their plans and she’d told him some of this, but he’d stopped her when she'd started conjuring apples. If mages and Aen Saevherne couldn’t make sense of Lara’s gift and how it was passed on, or what it meant if one was a carrier, how was _he_ – a simple witcher – supposed to? “Regis! Come to the point, please? And use simple words, you know I’m just a lowly witcher.”  
  
Regis blinked his dark eyes. Once. Then a slightly clawed hand reached up and for a moment Geralt thought the vampire would swat at his head, but instead his friend gently cupped the back of his neck and brought their foreheads together. Wait, was Regis _hissing_? Yes he was, and a quick exploration with his hands revealed ears that were a bit more pointy and longer than they should be to pass as human.  
  
He quickly pulled the vampire over into a nearby alley and placed both of his hands on top of Regis’ shoulders. “Regis?” He realised he’d unintentionally upset his friend. Talking about this subject using all these scientific terms brought him back to times long past and all the insecurity he’d felt back then. His own self-image had been marred by other people’s opinions, people that didn’t even know him, and it had hurt and now his old defence mechanism had reared its ugly head again.  
  
Regis breathed slowly in and out, several times. “My dear Geralt,” he spoke after a while, holding on for just a moment longer. When he finally let go he was back to his human shape, his fangs and long nails the only tell-tale signs that he was, in fact, not human at all. There was a sorrowful gleam in his eyes. “I wish you would not say such things about yourself. You are never, merely, a lowly witcher. You are so much more, dear friend.”  
  
“Slip of the tongue, Regis,” Geralt interrupted. Yen and Regis had worked so hard to quiet that ugly voice inside his head and he’d thought it gone, but apparently old habits were hard to shake. “Just… could you explain it to me like I’m your student instead of a scholar with a knowledge equal to all the experts that have dedicated their lives to this topic? That would help.”  
  
“Of course.” Regis grasped the strap at his shoulder and started fiddling with the leather, hesitating for a moment. “What if… what if you received a dose of the actual elder gene during your second round of Trials, which was successfully activated due to effects related to your earlier mutations, leading to you acquiring additional talents, as well as being able to form a mental connection with Ciri? Your dreams, for instance.”  
  
Dozens of thoughts flew through his mind at that. Wouldn’t Eredin have sensed him having one of the Elder Blood genes and try to exploit this while he had him in his clutches? But he couldn’t travel through time and space and the Trials hadn’t made him a source. Then again, acquiring a gene through mutagenic processes wasn’t the same thing as inheriting Lara’s gift, and there could be so many more factors playing a role here that couldn’t be isolated, but-  
  
Regis halted his spinning cerebrations. “As you indicate, Geralt, and as is clearly visible to all others, your hair is white, not ashen, but certainly there must be something in a humans’ genetics that determines the colour of their hair? In a descendent, the phenotypic qualities would solely reflect the hereditary genotype, but in a witcher already subjected to mutations, in _you_ , the elder gene would have affected your _own_ hereditary genotype, fused with it, as it were, resulting in a hybrid genotype as well as phenotype.”  
  
Geralt shook his head, so far he was following Regis’ reasoning. “An interesting idea, Regis, but a bit far-fetched; you might as well postulate that witchers have acquired their speed and agility through the administration of vampire mutagens during the Trials.”  
  
Regis cocked his head, a curious look on his face. “Now that, certainly, is an interesting supposition.”  
  
He held up his hand, forestalling any further speculation. “Destiny or genetics, vampire genes or elder genes, it doesn’t matter. Ciri and I, we are who we are. Are you done speculating and hypothesising? Even if you could determine the truth and establish whether Ciri and I have a _genetic_ connection, what would you even _do_ with it? As for my additional _talents_ ,” he snarled, “there will be no new generation of witchers to experiment on, we made sure of that after the whole situation with Salamandra; all the scrolls have been either destroyed, or hidden away safely.”  
  
“Rightly so,” Regis replied with ruffled indignation, “ _that_ was never my intention! But I find that I cannot suppress my interest in matters such as these, as knowledge on this topic may one day well be of benefit to you, or to others. You are unique, even amongst your kind. My practice as a barber surgeon has taught me that the more I know about the genetic background of my patient, the better capable I will be of treating them, or impr-.”  
  
Geralt placed his hand over Regis’ mouth, stilling his rambling defence. He hadn’t meant to snarl at his friend or offend him, but he was getting seriously tired of this topic.  
  
A heavy sigh passed his lips. If it had been anyone else he would have long stepped away from this topic and ignored them altogether, but this was _Regis_ , and his friend was curious, similar to how Keira had been curious and determined – and that had lead her to creating the cure for the plague. Who knew, if he let Regis have at it, perhaps he would even be able to improve the field of medicine for normal humans with any of the knowledge he would obtain from the archives.  
  
Letting his hand fall away, Geralt took a step back and cocked his head, narrow eyes staring deep into Regis’ dark ones. There was no physical harm in letting his friend access these well-kept secrets; the ones still remaining after Salamandra that was. In the worst case he would be spending weeks browsing through Kaer Morhen’s archives before Regis would have to reject his hypothesis, but if he did find anything to support his theory he could trust on his friend’s discretion. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. There had been books and scrolls in the cave as well, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back in there; perhaps Regis wouldn’t mind going in by himself and transferring them to the archives?  
  
He nodded more to himself than to his friend, realising he’d already made a decision. “All right, Regis. I shall offer you the opportunity to find proof in all of Kaer Morhen’s archives that either supports or rejects your hypothesis.”  
  
The look on Regis’ face was priceless; his friend stood as still as a sign post, eyes wide in shocked surprise. “Are you certain, Geralt? Do not for one moment think that I do not realise what you are offering, and what it means to you.”  
  
“Belleteyn seems like a good month to travel up north if you take me up on it, Regis. Got an idea on how you can repay me already, after all, you need a witcher to enter the archive vault.”  
  
Geralt pondered whether to ask Eskel and Lambert to join them up north, but he quickly discarded the idea. Lambert was more likely to burn the scrolls in his anger and piss off Regis (that really required dedicated skills) and Eskel… well, actually, perhaps Eskel _could_ be convinced to come up north and help out. And if he asked Eskel he should at least extend the invite to Lambert; the young witcher could always say no if he really didn’t want to return to the keep. Geralt smiled wryly, realising that if Lambert _did_ deign to come he was sure to bitch and moan every step of the way. That would actually make it more bearable for him: Eskel’s calm support, Lambert’s bitchy anger and Regis’ belief that something good could be gained for the future. Huh.  
  
He needed to get moving again, all this turmoil was making him antsy. “Coming, Regis? If we hurry we should still be in time to buy the fresher fish at the market for tonight.”  
  
With a fond smile, Regis took up his place beside him, a bit hesitant at first, as if feeling the weightiness of his decision and unsure how to act. A cool hand briefly touched his own; a silent thanks and an offer accepted.  
  
By the time they’d reached the market the heaviness that had come over them had slipped away, replaced by an easy and comfortable camaraderie.  
  
There was a bit of sunlight breaking through the clouds and Geralt gently nudged his friend over to the long shadows of the stalls, already sizing up one of the fish and thinking of the dish he was going to ask Zoltan to prepare. His mouth watered as he remembered the dwarf’s milk-poached trout.  
  
He noticed a familiar figure patrolling the market, though his armour had changed a bit, reflecting the fusion of Redania and Nilfgaard. It reminded him of a contract he’d once taken from the man, and another one Regis had actually taken on, many years ago in Toussaint, when they were still looking for Ciri. “Say Regis, did I ever tell you about one of the contracts I received at this fish market? The one from Sergeant Witschke?”  
  
Lifting his head from his own perusal of suitable fish for dinner, Regis shook his head. “I cannot say that it rings a bell, my friend.”  
  
Asking the merchant to wrap up some of the finer trout specimens, they slowly continued on their way, back to the Chameleon. “Oh my friend, I think this story is going to be right up your alley…”  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

> In the books there’s a scene where the discussion’s all about genes, activator/pseudogenes and latent genes related to the Elder Blood. Hereby I’m going with the idea that Regis thus would know a bit about genetics and genotype and be familiar with these terms – even though his (and others’) understanding of what a gene is, is not fully clear in this world. I’m with Geralt on this topic...


End file.
